The planetfall had been fairly uneventful. The snot-noses had raised a fair amount of hell in the kehrite as re-entry set in, but things kept fairly calm. Li’chinde stood at the bridge, bracing himself against a wall to avoid crashing to the floor. The pilots were doing their best to ensure a safe landing and, as usual, doing a good job.
Mahnde, the head pilot, pulled back on the hand yokes, tilting the ship so it travelled nearly parallel to the planet’s surface. To Li’chinde, this looked like a paradise. Judging from the readouts he’d seen earlier, the atmosphere was perfect for the yautja, as was the gravity, and the foothilled terrain would make for an interesting hunt. Although during the day it would get a little warm, there would be nothing to hold back the hunters. If these idiotic children failed, they’d have deserved the death they’d surely recieve. This place was perfect.
As the ship set down, Li’chinde checked the readouts once more to confirm where the oomans were. He’d be careful to steer the snot-noses from them if possible, but . . . . maybe he could get the Blooded together and have a little hunt of their own. A few more skulls in his room couldn’t possibly harm his chances with females. Ahh, mating . . . There was a pleasure he hadn’t been able to indulge for a long time. A slow, quiet hiss escaped his lips as he silently cursed these idiot cubs for taking another facet of his life from him.
The craft shuddered violently as the landing skids touched down on the surface, hurling a cloud of dust into the sky. Li’chinde barked a quick compliment to Mahnde and the other pilots, then headed for the airlock, where the students were doubtlessly waiting. On the way, he stepped into a storage room and dragged out an immense crate, hauling it along with him. Lugging the crate through the halls, the stench of n’dui’se, the musk of anticipation and anger, grew stronger as he neared the students. As much of the stink was being produced by those primitives, Li’chinde could have found them if they blindfolded and gagged him.
Presently, the air grew denser as the air from the planet mingled with the air from the ship. Which one of those snot-nosed paukers opened the airlock?! ran through Li’chinde’s mind as he started walking faster to ensure that they weren’t dead yet. If the airlock was open, any hostility from the outside would be greeted by a horde of inexperienced, overstimulated children, none of whom knew anything about cooperation.
As he stepped into the hold, he saw that, indeed, the doors were open, and the Unblooded had already spilled out onto the surface, making enough noise to wake the dead. They were perfecting battle techniques and boasting over who’d have the most kills by the end of the night.
Li’chinde stomped out of the ship, each step throwing dust into the dead air. He dropped the immense crate, took a deep breath of the rich air, and glared at the students with a furious glare he had perfected by watching the females. As each one met eyes with him, they stopped in their tracks as the oh, shit look worked its way into their faces. Obviously, it wasn’t until this moment they realized they should have waited. The clan leader slammed his fist against the crate, knocking the lid several feet away. Peices of sand-colored, shining armor spilled onto the dusty ground. Li’cinde smiled on the inside, but he barked his orders out to sound angrier than he actually was.
"Here is your awu’asa. Put them on and get used to the controls. They’ll keep you alive through the night if you use them well. Oomans have been sighted in the area, so we’ll have cloaking technology." A light gasp of terror seeped through some of the more cowardly youths. The mighty oomans, here! The Hunt would surely be a worthy one!
Before they could think any further, Li’chinde barked, "No one is to approach the oomans. That is a gift and challenge worthy only of the true Warriors. Now, get your equipment."
A mad stampede ensued amongst the students as they shoved, slapped, and trampled each other to get at the best armor. Li’chinde stood off to the side, watching the spectacle. The strong would always have the best equipment; that was the way of it. He smiled as he thought how blindly eager these would-be warriors were to be Blooded. Some of the larger ones had already donned their armor and were testing the sights of their burners, getting used to the weight, and so on.
As soon as they were relatively under control, Li’chinde continued his orders.
"We’ll practice and test our equipment until night falls. Then, the Hunt begins. Dismissed!"
The students roared in eagerness and delight as they threw on the last of their armor and hefted their spears into the air, chanting songs of conquest and good hunting. The four accompanying Blooded warriors stood off to the side and monitored the terrain for any unexpected vistiors.
Bakka, the Blooded guarding the west side, was holding a panel that monitored ooman activity. A drop-ship had been sent from the craft they’d spotted earlier, and it had touched down about three miles away. The only thing between the two craft was a range of foothills just high enough to conceal them.
To be safe, Bakka ordered their ship to activate its cloaking system. As the craft vanished into a shimmering emptiness, the last of the students realized the risk and shut up. If they weren’t already noticed, that is . . .
Li’chinde summoned the four Warriors over to him: Bakka, Li’koub, Hrr’kak, and the one who they called Nemesis (Once, when he hunted the oomans, he’d overheard them calling him this. He liked the sound, so he took that to be his name.) The clan leader peeked over Bakka’s shoulder and made sure no oomans were getting too curious, then he addressed the four.
"The students are occupied. While they’re busy, we will use the shift-suits to spy on the oomans. Li’koub, Hrr’kak, I know you’ve never seen them before. We’ll change that now. Approach in shadows, and make no sound. We’ll bring the Gkinmara with us."
The four nodded a quiet assent, then stepped into the hidden craft to prepare themselves. When they emerged, they were clad in awu’asa and carrying gkinmara (visual playback devices) with them on their waistbands. A few of the students noticed and hissed out inquiries of their actions.
Li’chinde spoke for the small group, saying, "We’re going to monitor the oomans. You stay here and practice. We’ll return in an hour."
Most turned away, but Rrajigii stood and watched as the five vanished and dashed towards the foothills. Covering about two miles, mostly uphill, would take more than an hour; he was sure of that. There’s no way they could run the whole way, unless they were that superior to the Unblooded . . .
Once they were a good distance away, Li’chinde yelled to the others, "When we get to the top of the foothills, move as the guan, night. We need not capture the attention of the oomans. They would not be here if they were not more powerful than others we’ve hunted. And, switch your biohelmets into the vision that illuminates our technology. We need to be able to see each other."
Nemesis whispered something under his breath that none of the others could really understand. They dismissed it; none of them had ever heard Nemesis actually say anything besides his name when they first met him.
The foothills stretched far longer than it looked when they started. After nearly a half-hour of charging nonstop for the horizon, they were beginning to tire at last. Li’chinde was the only one still maintaining a calm breathing pattern, and the others were beginning to take faltering steps. Nemesis puffed along, holding his own almost as well as Li’chinde was.
Finally, they reached the top of the hill. Li’chinde, using hand signals, ordered the four to stop, and each followed the silent order unquestioningly. Hrr’kak, panting heavily, kneeled to the ground and tried to slow his breathing. Li’chinde and Nemesis glanced at Hrr’kak, then at each other. They promptly looked away and focused on the ooman drop-ship. As Bakka peeked over the ridge, his shoulders slumped in disappointment.
It was empty.
The oomans must have already set off toward . . . wherever they were going. Maybe they were heading to the other craft that they had seen on the way down. But why? It looked unsalvageable . . .
Li’chinde switched his biohelmet into the electrical vision, looking for any traps. It looked safe. No auto-burners or anything, except for a video camera over the ship’s ramp. Finally, he switched into infrared to make sure no oomans were there that he’d missed. It was, indeed, vacant.
The leader whispered to the others, "It’s safe. None of them stayed behind, and they left no apparent traps."
"What now?" Bakka whispered back, obviously piqued.
Hrr’kak thought a moment, then said, "We could destroy the craft. Strand them here and make them Hunted."
"No," retorted Li’chinde, "It would not be honorable. We will catch up to them at the ooman crash site later. They seem to travel by day, unlike the kiande amedha."
Nemesis nodded, then pointed to the sky.
The other four looked up. The sun was beginning to set. The kiande amedha chiva! The Hard Meat trial! By the time they looked back down, Li’chinde was already running back to the campsite, with Nemesis close on his heels. The others dashed after the pair with Hrr’kak bringing up the rear.
By the time they arrived at the campsite, the students had obviously been waiting for some time. The sun was hanging over the mountain in the distance; a sure sign from Paya himself that the kiande amedha would awaken in a few minutes.
Li’chinde ordered Bakka to give out the instructions.
Bakka, a tall, lanky warrior, stepped forward and issued the instructions. "These," Bakka barked, holding up a largish, hand-held weapon, "Are your burners. They each have enough charge for ten shots; no more. Basically, you point it at the kiande amedha, then you pull this trigger. That’s a two-step operation; even you would-be warriors should be able to remember that."
The students hissed slightly as the insult sank in. It was certainly not the worst thing a trainer had told them, but they had expected a little respect on this sacred night.
Bakka continued, "You will battle the kiande amedha, then you will drag your kills back to this site for the Blooding ceremony. Under no circumstances are you to approach the oomans. If you do, I’ll kill you myself."
Bakka turned about long enough to see Li’chinde glaring at him. Bakka motioned him to play along, then turned around. Deep inside, Li’chinde felt that Bakka wasn’t lying. A teacher’s reputation is based on how many of his students live; it would be rather embarrassing to have one of the escorts kill off half his class. It might even get his request for transfer to a Blooded-only craft denied.
Bakka closed his pep talk with, "Go out and bring honor to this clan. Payas leijin-de; remember God’s practice."
The students roared in pride and anticipation as Bakka backed away into the group of Warriors. Nemesis glanced at Bakka, then slipped on his biohelmet and hooked up his shoulder cannon. Although not his favorite weapon, it had its uses . . .
He checked the sights on it, then shut it down for the time being. Then, he tapped a few keys on his right gauntlet to enhance the audio incoming. Over the now-deafening noise of the students, he could faintly hear ooman voices; estimated to be only about three miles off. Also, a little closer, the hisses and tail-whips of the Hard Meat were approaching the oomans. The students would have to be quick if they were to get the Hard Meat first.
The hopefuls were running full-speed at the Hard Meat, waving their burners in a careless fashion that prompted the Booded to keep a little more distance than usual. The whole group had been informed that, if the Hard Meat were to reach the oomans, the hunt would have to be called off. So, the whole class was charging full-steam at the nightmarish beasts before they could reach the forbidden camps. A few of them were beginning to fall back as their lungs began to fail them. Others, like Rrajigii and Tichandi, were at the front, already taking aim at the Hard Meat.
The prey was not in much of a hurry to overrun the camps, so they were travelling slow enough for the clan to catch up to them. It seemed the Hunters hadn’t yet been noticed.
"I’ll show you the true meaning of the Hunt!" Li’chinde roared, then put on a burst of speed to run past the students and after the Hard Meat. He was charging easily twice as fast as the rest of the clan, when he leapt into the air, activating the Ki’cti-pa he wore on his right forearm. As Li’chinde dropped to the ground, the gleaming blades on his wrist found their mark at the base of one of the Hard Meat’s skulls.
The head dropped unceremoniously to the ground, spilling (and spraying) blood all over the landscape. Whatever it hit quicky began to dissolve. It’s dying act, the head screamed an alert to its brethren, who quicky turned around to face their new adversaries. The hive screamed a promise of death to the clan as they opened their charge.
The clan roared back and readied their weapons. The Hard Meat screamed again as the first volley of burner shots blistered the landscape.
Ralph glanced up from his hand and glanced into the western horizon. The sun was beginning to set, now; it added an air of beauty to this otherwise sterile world. After a few moments of listening carefully, he decided to find out whether he was crazy or not. "Probably just an animal or something - - this atmosphere’s pretty hospitable. Now quit’cher bitchin’ and tell me what you have." Cominsky scrutinized Ralph’s face for a sign of lying. There was none. "Son of a . . ." Cominsky whispered to no one in particular. Li’chinde had long since opened up with his spear, and the corpses were piled knee-deep around him as he fought off aliens up to four at a time. From all directions, the thunderous roar of the burners was more often than not impacting on the surface. On occassion, a blast would hit one of the Hard Meat, causing its deliverer to bellow out a cheer of pride and conqust. Between strikes with the combi-stick, Li’chinde thought to himself, These idiots are so proud of shooting the damned things? They shouldn’t even be Blooded until they killed one at close range. Sad, how easy they made the rule for the first Hunt.
Every now and then, the Hard Meat gradually pulled their attention from Li’chinde, instead focusing on the students. They had obviously learned that killing the leader wasn’t possible, so they decided to attack the students. And every time they tried, Li’chinde would open up with his shoulder cannon and grab their attention again.
The twelve students, having killed maybe ten of the Hard Meat, were now outnumbered by only about 8 to 1. One of the snot-noses - - Li’chinde couldn’t tell which - - was too slow on the trigger and met his end at the edge of a kiande amedha’s talons. One of the severed dreadlocks bounced into the pile of bodies Li’chinde was gradually burying himself in, while the rest of the body was scattered into all directions by the three beasts slashing at it.
The corpses laid to rest by Li’chinde were stacked up on all sides, but not touching the warrior. From the slashes of his combi-spear, the wall of Death surrounding him was making it difficult to maneuver.
It was growing obvious that the Warrior would be buried alive by this wall unless he escaped. So, he leapt into the air and came down on one of the bodies, spilling its internals everywhere. The acid blood chewed harmlessly at Li’chinde’s armor; the switch to acid-proof metals now proved a worthy investment.
Now free to move, Li’chinde switched his grip on the combi-spear and swung it like a golf club, knocking two of the Hard Meat from the student’s corpse and cutting the third one in half. The legs of the kiande amedha fell dead, but the upper half slowly crawled towards Li’chinde until it was shot by one of the hopefuls. Raspy, malacious laughter burst from the student’s mouth and echoed over the battlefield.
"So, what do you hate worst about this place?" Giger asked Ralph, drawing his cards close so nobody would be inclined to cheat.
"Oh, I’d say I hate the way there isn’t wind or anything. It’s like the whole planet’s dead," Ralph mused, not looking up from his hand.
Ragsdale chimed in with, "I’d say that what I hate worst is the fact that I’ve lost twelve bucks in a low-stakes match. How is that even possible? This place has gotta be a curse against me or somethin’!"
Cominsky grinned and held up three slips of paper labeled I.O.U. "Ya mean these, Caesar?" he taunted, waving the slips at Ragsdale, who smacked them into the dirt. Muffled laughter ran through everyone but Ragsdale, who was reaching for the beer.
Now less than a mile away, the battle raged on more furiously than ever. The students were pouring their last shots into the cloud of metallic creatures, and those with empty guns were quickly grabbing their kills and running to safety. Li’chinde, now growing tired, was being backed up by Nemesis, while the other three Warriors covered the students.
The two Conquerers were into the fight body and soul, facing back-to-back and felling victim after victim. Nemesis was using the combi-spear along with his wrist blades, using the retracted spear as a club and finishing the job with the ki’cti-pa. Li’chinde’s spear was extended to its full three meters and was slashing and jabbing as though it had a mind of its own.
Li’chinde leapt into the air and put the full weight of his landing into the spear, ramming through one of the Hard Meat with so much force that every bone in its body was broken before it hit the ground. This was followed up by a quick stab that entered another one of the bugs’ mouths and exited through its neck, spraying acid onto the dissolving pile of corpses. Nemesis clubbed one of the Hard Meat’s banana-shaped heads, knocking it aside, then used his wrist blades to behead the first and cut off the hands of a second, approaching one, in a single swipe. In the second swipe, a backhand motion, the handless creature lost the better part of its chest, spilling the vital organs at the Yautja’s feet.
Hrr’kak and Li’koub were protecting the students that had used all their ammunition, fending off the shining black assailants with burner and shoulder cannon. The blasts illuminated the landscape far more than the full moons were, bathing the field in blue-white bursts of concentrated energy.
Bakka had managed to herd the more careful newbies into a tight formation, covering each other with their remaining shots. The Warrior, meanwhile, had opened up with his pistol, tearing apart the creatures with energy-woven balls of electricity as the students ran for cover as the burners expired.
Ralph dropped his hand and turned to the western horizon, along with the other three. Over the blasts and screams from over the hill, Ralph heard Cominsky whisper, ". . . the Hell?" Giger just stood open-mouthed, staring at the abberration. Over the hill, less than a mile away, the night air was being broken by explosions that lit the darkness and screaming unlike anything any of them had ever heard. Occasionally, a dim shadow of . . . something . . . would pass over the chain of explosions and shots.
Cominsky was the first to react. "Okay, everyone, I want smartgunners on standby, everyone else backing them up. We’ll go slow, up the hill, and blow the hell outta whatever it is."
"Nice," Pieper replied, who had just put down her book to come see the commotion. "The same tactic Major General Hancock used at the Battle of Alpha Gamma. But is it gonna be any good?"
"Worked for him, didn’t it?" Cominsky answered.
"Are you sure that’s a good idea?" Giger interrupted, "I mean, lookin’ at all that goin’ on over there, maybe we should hang back a little and let it burn itself out."
"Stop trying to run my platoon," Cominsky ordered, his voice a little firmer. "We go now, and we’re gonna give ‘em somethin’ they ain’t gonna expect . . . okay, we’ll fire a couple grenades over first. How does that sound?" Li’chinde was slowing down some now. Keeping up a hand-to-hand attack pattern for twelve minutes had begun to take its toll; not to mention the glory charge he made to intercept the maniacal creatures. His breathing now came between kills in quick, gasping breaths that tasted like thwei. Not the blood that was nearly flooding the landscape; his own blood.
He was no longer able to use the spear with much ability in his weakened state, so he now fired with the plasmacaster mounted on his shoulder. The blasts splashed through the Hard Meat, sometimes killing two at a time. Li’chinde couldn’t help thinking, At this rate, my field charge will be empty in a matter of seconds . . . .
Probably the only reason Li’chinde hadn’t been overtaken was because Nemesis still had a good bit of vigor, since he was not as quick to join the fight. Nemesis had adjusted his stategy, using the combi-spear in the way it was intended to be used. The Hard Meat were trying to gang up on him, but were taken down by the occasional shot from his - - or Li’chinde’s - - plasmacaster.
Bakka had already used the last of his field charge and had resorted to fending them off with a combi-spear; melee combat had never been his strong suit, and it showed now as he fended off the Hard Meat from the students, all of whom were out of ammo. Backing him up were Hrr’kak and Li’koub, who had also emptied their charge units and were going in tooth and nail. Basically, all the students could do at this point was stay out of the way and drag what few bodies they killed.
So this is it, Li’chinde thought, We’re all going to die. The bodies of the Kiande Amedha easily counted eighty by Li’chinde and Nemesis alone. The students had knocked off perhaps fifteen or twenty total, and the other Blooded members had probably taken 35 as a whole. And yet, they kept coming. A continuous flood of the creatures flowed from the hive like a river of coal-black thwei, blood.
Their screams echoed throughout the battlefield as they came in from the left, claiming another of the students and dragging another toward the hive, where death was certain. Hrr’kak did that student a favor and used the last of his field charge to blow the student’s head off. His reasoning was, if he killed the beast dragging the student, another would just take its place.
It was the last thing he thought before stepping his bare foot in a puddle of the Hard Meat’s blood, which chewed through his skin and into the flesh. Bellowing in pain, Hrr’kak pulled his foot out and inspected it a second, determining that he’d be okay in a day or two, probably. Limping back towards the students, Hrr’kak occasionally swung his spear to keep the sea of nightmares at bay.
It wasn’t long before his good foot tripped over a rock, sending the hunter crashing to the stony ground. For his final trick, he hurled the spear into the air, sending it through a pair of the Hard Meat before it finally landed, sticking up at a decent angle from the ground. With this, Hrr’kak laid back on the ground and closed his eyes, awaiting an honorable death.
Seconds passed. To Hrr’kak, it seemed like minutes, waiting for the ultimate cure of pain. The fallen Warrior opened his eyes and looked up . . .
They were running! The Hard Meat had given up! Their Queen must have called off the attack. Hrr’kak heaved himself back up and limped over to his spear, pulled it out of the ground, and joined the rest of the group in chasing away the multitude of creatures. Spears and burners were hefted into the air as the clan began sing praises to all the gods that were listening.
After a moment, Ralph couldn’t help but ask, "Does anyone else hear that?"
They were halfway up the hill, with Ragsdale, the grenadier, up front, with smartgunners Giger and Egstad immediately behind. All the others, including Ralph, Cominsky, and Pieper armed with pulse rifles, were in the back. Nervousness clung to the air like a heavy fog. The Hard Meat had retreated back into the caverns to heal their wounds and allow the clan to heal theirs. Rrajigii led some of the students in a prayer to Cetanu, the god of death, while the Warriors were tallying things up. They noted deaths and injuries, but didn’t bother to record who killed what. In the yautja society, claiming another’s kill was punishable by death, so even the graduates would not be so stupid as to try it.
Bakka was issuing orders to the students to drag their kills back to the ship so that the Blooding ceremony could be held.
Nemesis, kicking the Hard Meat’s corpses out of the way, was helping Li’chinde back to the others. The clan leader had finally succumbed to the world and collapsed in exhaustion. Had they not given up, odds were that none of the clan would have lived to tell the story. Dissolving bodies were piled up so high that they rose nearly to a yautja’s chest; so high that even the tallest ooman would no doubt be buried alive. However, the acid blood ensured that the corpses would vanish in a matter of minutes.
Groggily, Li’chinde lifted his head and saw the outcome of the Hunt. Then, his head fell back to his chest, and the last thing he thought before collapsing was, That was the best damn Hunt I ever led.
Seeing that Li’chinde had blacked out, Nemesis hefted him up in his arms and carried him over to the others. Nemesis growled softly, and Bakka could almost see the snarl behind his biohelmet. Hrr’kak, interpreting this, said, "Let him sleep until the ceremony. He’s earned the rest."
Bakka looked at the sinking piles of corpses that Li’chinde had raised and decided they were right. Raising his voice for all to hear, he roared, "We return to the campsite now. Bring your kills with you!"
The soon-to-be-Blooded victors grabbed what they had killed and dragged them gingerly back to the ship, being careful not to touch the thwei-soaked wounds. The Warriors brought up the rear, carrying Li’chinde with them like a prize kill.
"Okay, boys . . . and girl," Cominsky whispered, "We ready?"
Fingers tightened around triggers as the seconds ticked by.
"Sure has gotten quiet up there," someone from behind muttered, only to be silenced by someone else. Time seemed to slow . . .
"All right . . . ." Cominsky let a moment pass before finishing the sentence. "Ragsdale, pump a few over the side and make ‘em feel loved."
"With pleasure," Ragsdale yelled, over the "thtunk" sound of his grenade launcher lobbing a few rounds over the side of the hill. The group listened for a moment until the grenades sounded an all-clear in a clamor of light and fire.
The platoon charged full ahead, screaming in pride and conquest. They stopped promptly upon reaching the battlefield. Nothing was there. Nothing but pools of some greenish liquid - - blood, presumably - - chewing into the terrain. In a few places, there were patches of a different liquid, this one glowing a bright, neon green. To confirm, Ralph activated his Image Intensifier and looked over the shadowy battleground. "Shee-it . . ." Giger sputtered out, strapping his smartgun to his back. He pulled out a pack of cigarrettes and fumbled in his pockets for a lighter, mumbling, "God, it sucks out here."
Cominsky looked down at his feet, where a strange piece of black exoskeleton was being crunched under the ample weight of his shoe. He looked around once more, then said, "Let’s get back to camp; whatever was up here, we missed it. But I think we can make a little sense out of all this if we do some research." He started back up the hill. "Pope, Smartie, Pieper, and Ragsdale, you four come with me. As for the rest of you, keep watch and make sure nothin’ breaks our perimeter." Sighing, he reached the top of the hill and stared down at the empty area below. "Whatever was out there was lethal."
The night had cleared up some, and now, the moonlight bathed the ground in a pale white. Under the glow of the moons, a quiet group of the nine surviving students were standing side by side, with broken, skeletal corpses lying at their feet. The light glinted off their exoskeletons, making the night all the more luminous.
The Blooded warriors were pacing around the group, like a predator circling its prey, sizing up the students with cold efficiency. Bakka was helping Li’chinde over to the waiting students, trying not to show effort as the clan leader’s subtantial weight bore down on Bakka’s shoulder.
Soon, Li’chinde stood upright and limped over to the group. As he stepped into the view of the graduates, he made an effort to walk normally, and strode over to the first student, Tichandi, who had two bodies at his feet. Whispering a blessing that Tichandi couldn’t make out, Li’chinde knelt down and grabbed one of the corpses’ wrists, using the other hand to rip off the Hard Meat equivilant of an index finger.
Li’chinde held up the finger in the light as if studying it for perfection. Then, he spat on the stump, using his saliva to neutralize the hissing blood leaking from where the finger’s knuckle used to be. He allowed it a moment to stop sizzling, then painted the clan symbol onto Tichandi’s forehead. Tichandi bit down on his lip, stifling a shriek of pain as the blood burned its way into a permanent place in his scalp.
Smoke rose from the emblem now fused into his cranium as Li’chinde moved to the next yautja in line. This one only had one kill, which was more than enough to earn the Blooding. Li’chinde repeated the ritual, moving on to the next in turn.
At last, he stopped at Rrajigii, the eighth in line. Rrajigii was the only graduate that had three kills stacked at his feet. This was nearly unheard of for the first hunt, and Li’chinde stopped a moment to take it into consideration. He recalled a specific addendum to the ritual in these circumstances, and bent down, opened one of the Hard Meat’s mouths, and ripped out the secondary jaws.
Long, fiberous cords and veins hung from the torn end, which Li’chinde spat on, then used to burn the emblem directly into Rrajigii’s chest. Li’chinde could hear Rrajigii suck in a heavy gasp of pain as the skin burned away from his chest and was instantly cauterized. Rrajigii nearly dropped to his knees under the pain.
Li’chinde stood back up and whispered into Rrajigii’s ear, "Payas Leitjin-de; Remember God’s practice."
Rrajigii nodded, gripping his chest as though he was suffering a heart attack. Finally, Li’chinde blooded the last survivor and then stepped a few paces from the group and said, "You are now among the Blooded yautja; honor has been bestowed upon you and your clans. Live by The Path, and do nothing to dishonor you or the gods."
The graduates replied with the yautja equivalent of "amen," and filed into the ship so they could sleep. After the events of the evening, they were all ready to rest.
Li'chinde was stacking up the Hard Meat corpses to speed their decomposition when Bakka approached him. Although he said nothing at first, Li'chinde could tell from the look on his horned face that he had something on his mind.
"What is it, Bakka?" Li'chinde asked, dropping another body onto the unholy pile of chitin and bone.
"Li'chinde, I was just speaking with the New Bloods, and many of them believe that they are ready to engage the Soft Meat, the oomans. With your permission -- *"
"Absolutely not!" Li'chinde spat, waving a dismembered arm at Bakka as though it somehow got the point across better, "You know as well as I do that yautja are not allowed to Hunt oomans until they attain Warrior status. Those are the rules, and my job here is to make sure that these children learn to embrace them."
"Yes, Li'chinde," Bakka said emotionlessly, keeping his face from showing the contempt he felt inside. The pair stood in awkward silence for a few moments, then Bakka tossed the last corpse on the pile and skulked into the ship.
The last one outside, Li'chinde looked towards the horizon, where a canyon wall hid the battlefield that had been created that evening. Memories of this night would live as long as he would; never before had he seen a Hard Meat Trial that was quite this… Invigorating. He sat down on the cracked soil and wondered if the oomans realized how close they had come to being annihilated by the Hard Meat without even knowing it. And how the yautja had saved them without really intending to. War was funny that way.
Bakka, unsure of what to do, asked, "Do we wake him?"
Empty as a beer bottle in Los Angeles.
[one][two][three][four][five][six][seven][eight][nine][ten]
